


Priceless

by laetificat



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Ritual Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 03:03:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17154071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laetificat/pseuds/laetificat
Summary: Before he can take Gimli's hand, Legolas must prove his appreciation for the Dwarven form.





	Priceless

The flagged stone floor was damp and gritty under Legolas’ knees and palms. The air smelled of dust and wet darkness, accented by the spitting flames and oily smoke rising from the resinous branches tied with ribbons to the columns of stone, their prongs decorated with horn and bone chips marked with Khuzdul rune-glyphs of fertility and promises. Bundles of dried flowers and herbs, flagons of ale and mead added their own warm notes, accented by the musk and sweat of those packed into the chamber. 

Legolas didn’t fully understand why the meeting place had been chosen, except that it was sacred -- something to do, he thought, with an old tale of a Dwarven princess eloping with her lover to these caves for one last night of passion before her wedding. Or perhaps it was merely convenient for the Dwarves who were in attendance, of which there were a large number.

It was, Gimli had told him the night before, a great honor to be able to appraise the beloved of a Lord and descendant of Durin.

“Appraise?” Legolas had repeated, looking back over the bare curve of his shoulder. Gimli had chuckled, deft fingers continuing to work on the ritual braids that crowned Legloas’ fair locks.

“Aye,” Gimli had replied. “To reassure them of your love and loyalty to all Dwarves, as well as your.. appreciation of the Dwarven form. This will be quite an event; the first in many hundreds of years.” 

Legolas had kept his suspicions on what this meant to himself, though they were quickly confirmed the next morning, when he was awoken by Gimli’s attendants and asked to perform his ablutions and cleanse himself thoroughly. Then he was bathed, and his entire body anointed with fragrant oils containing certain enervating and relaxing tinctures which suffused him with a feeling of suppleness, of acceptance. And of need.

Gimli himself inserted had the ritual plug, intricately wrought in gold and silver and inscribed with his name. It was large, heavy in the hand and thick around almost as Gimli’s gathered fingers. By that time Legolas was as close to trembling with desire as an Elf could get, and he had clutched at Gimli, gasping, as it slid home. Gimli had left him then, despite Legolas’ entreaties, but not without a pass of his hand across Legolas’ cheek and a fond blessing of good luck for his _mamamshul-‘ibinê_. 

The ride out to the caves had been a delicious agony for Legolas, the motion of the horse stirring the plug within him, sending ripples of craving through his body. He had swayed in the saddle, and gasped, quite unlike his usual poise, and had not been able to ignore the pleased glances being exchanged by the Dwarves accompanying him. But he remained determined. He would not show badly. He would do whatever was needful to prove himself.

As it turned out, the Dwarves were keen indeed to learn how well Legolas could prove how much joining with a Lord of their people meant to him. 

Legolas felt a hand brush his brow, gentling his hair out of his eyes. The ritual braids had not lasted long, between the fumbling grip of the Dwarves as they guided his head to service them, one after the other, and the sweat that had run down over Legolas’ body. A horn of mead was pressed against his lips, the warm spiced liquid slopping into his mouth. He swallowed instinctively, the sweet taste mingling deliciously with the tang of Dwarven seed.

The Dwarf behind him didn’t pause in his rhythmic thrusts, his cock sliding easily in and out of Legolas’ well used hole. Legolas groaned, dropping his head, his own erection throbbing and bouncing between his legs with each smack of the Dwarf’s ample hips against his backside. Foam-flecked waves of release had already washed over him thrice, the evidence of which was still drying on the stone beneath him; the legendary stamina of the Elves stoked by the embers of ancient Dwarven magic. He drifted somewhere between consciousness and a meditative dream state, riding the tidal surges of pleasure.

Fingers trailed over his body, followed by the scratch of beards and the softness of lips, anonymous, eyes hidden behind ornate enamel and metal masks carved in ritual shapes. Nevertheless, there were exclamations of desire and appreciation of his beauty, calling him _galthûn_ and _andamrâlul-kakhaf_ , praising Gimli’s taste in companions in much the same way as Legolas had heard praise of a particularly beautiful jewel setting or well-hewn axe haft. These were echoed by the laughter and conversations of the Dwarves clustered around the edge of the chamber, watching or awaiting their turn. Not a few impatient attendees were indulging themselves in each other, exchanging freely what they could not normally ask for.

Soft words above his head. A touch, thumb skating over his lower lip, then down to his chin, bringing his face up. A touch he knew well.

Gimli’s hair and beard glittered in the torchlight, the glow caught on a hundred tiny glass and silver beads nestled in a web of golden wire. Legolas’ drifting magic-drunk consciousness smeared each shimmering light, so it seemed he stood in a net of stars.

“Never have I seen you look more beautiful,” Gimli murmured, voice pitched low and private. He wore only a loose cloth-of-gold robe and a smile that made Legolas’ heart sing with fondness. He brushed the heel of his palm over Legolas’ lips; Legolas, otherwise unable to utter words, groaned against his skin as the Dwarf servicing his behind began to pick up speed. 

At that, Gimli parted his robe, revealing his thick cock already swelling proudly from the thatch of dark hair which flowed down his body. Murmuring half-formed Sindarin endearments like a prayer, Legolas leaned forward to bury his face in the softness of Gimli’s belly, losing himself for a moment in the familiar smell of him, and was rewarded by a rumbling laugh.

“Impatient Elf,” Gimli grunted, not unpleased. With a tender hand he guided him downwards and Legolas, of course, obeyed, licking and kissing his way up the shaft before taking him into his mouth. Gimli’s hands gripped his shoulder and slid behind his head, setting the rhythm, groaning himself as Legolas allowed the full length of him to slip over his tongue. 

And so they moved together as one, the two Dwarves and Legolas the anvil against which they hammered out their ecstasy. Legolas pushed aside the hazy grip of the Dwarven magic, allowing himself to feel every moment: the bowstring-tautness of his muscles trembling on the edge of exhaustion; the delicious fullness of the Dwarven cock inside him, both taking and receiving; the way the Dwarf pounding into his ass dug his fingers into his hips, greedy, as he increased the pace; how Gimli seemed to respond to it, sliding his cock in and out of Legolas’ mouth, letting small noises of pleasure fall from his lips, his thumb tracing tense circles on Legolas’ shoulder. And the rising heat in Legolas’ own body, ecstasy singing through his blood and gathering in his balls and belly, so he began to ride with them, his two masters, the Dwarf he loved and the Dwarf who wanted him, spreading his legs and hollowing his cheeks to take them both deeper, wanting -- needing -- more of them in turn. 

“Legolas, _lukhudel_.. ah, my love,” Gimli gasped, as the anonymous Dwarf rode pounding into his orgasm with a hoarse bark of joy, and the feel of his pleasure sent a shudder of mutual longing through Legolas even as Gimli’s grip tensed on his shoulder and he cried out and stepped back, his seed spilling hot and wet against Legolas’ lips, his bare skin, and falling like rain onto the stone. Legolas moaned, emptied and not yet sated, bereft, and then Gimli was there, embracing him, kissing him, one arm wrapped around his chest as his hand dipped down and at the grazing touch of his fingers Legolas found release, as hard and pure as the very first time, spending himself in shuddering groans over Gimli’s stomach and thighs. 

And Gimli remained, supporting his head as he subsided -- graceless, for once -- to the floor, leaning down to kiss his brow, his cheeks, his lips. The world swam before him, gleaming yellow-gold glow and the sight of his love wreathed in a thousand points of light.

“I hope.. the appraisal went to your satisfaction,” Legolas murmured, licking the taste of him from his lips. Gimli chuckled softly. 

“Foolish Elf prince,” he rumbled. “In you, I will always be satisfied.”

**Author's Note:**

> Notes on the Khuzdul:
> 
> mamamshul-‘ibinê - my hoarded gem  
> galthûn - delicious one  
> andamrâlul-kakhaf - lovely bottom  
> lukhudel - light of all lights


End file.
